The Only Thing Straight Is My Jacket

My Better Blog

2006-02-15T16:40:28Z

So, as it turns out, writing my deeply confessional bullshit online did not work out for me. That really needs to be saved for my little journals which are full to the brim of me playing the tiniest violins in the world for myself.

However, my skills as a writer of tarted up observations on pop culture are finally bein put to good use. See me at my better, joining forces with some of the men of Metrosource Magazine to bring you: THE FAGULOUS BLOG at fagulous.blogspot.com.

Every Time We Say Goodbye

2005-08-12T14:39:27Z

JONWATCH: I'm just writing this because I thought it might be nice to have one last "Jonwatch." After all the promises and crying, the forgotten birthdays and the frustrating misunderstandings, the breaking up and staying together anyway, I came home from Sweden to the news that Jonathan had found someone new. His name is Tom. Tom lives in Brooklyn a few stops away from Jon on the L train. They watch Anime together.

I asked Jon to tell me about Tom because I didn't want to be that guy who couldn't hear the details, who heard "I met this guy" and hung up the phone. At the end of the conversation Jon said he was sure we would talk soon. He was looking forward to hanging out with me later in the week.

I haven't heard from him since.

The Return of the Mental Patient

2005-05-31T20:50:05Z

You guys? Life... is very strange.

I know I haven't written here in a while, quite possible due to some sort of prejudice against online journalling, which I guess makes me devalue it, compared to in-my-little-leather-bound-journal journalling, but I'm trying to shake things up in my life and this might be a way to start.

Frankly, I'd probably change my hair color if I didn't know so many people who made their hair fall out doing that and I don't want my hair to fall out. Especially now that it's all long and whatnot.

I wanted to change the format of the journal, too. Make it more about pop culture stuff. But, frankly, I'm so over reading about season finales and stuff like that there that, well, maybe the pop will come later.

SHOREWATCH: Had a RETARDED-good time at the shore this weekend with my friend Sarah. It's hard to encapsulate all the goodness, especially because we spent almost the entire time laughing and much of it is very you-had-to-be-there. Suffice it to say that true '80s Jersey hair and style are still alive and well at The Stone Pony in Asbury Park (famed for launching the career of Mr. Springsteen) and that the gay community at the Jersey shore is apparently a group that should be studied by anthropologists for its truly breathtaking variety and insularity.

DREAMWATCH: Had the STRANGEST dream, and one that I was totally convinced was happening to the degree that I was worried and woke up so relieved that it wasn't true. In the dream I had blacked out for some, possibly extended, period of time - during which time I had established a relationship with a very pretty young lady who I had apparently FILLED WITH MY SEED. Oh, yes, she was pregnant. Those who know me should already have released their urine or had any milk in their mouths now lining their nasal passages upon the reading of this. So basically I was now me again except with this woman who, during some time I can't remember, thought I was totally about immediate babymaking. There were many other of my friends and family about and I know some of the major events in the dream took place at a roller rink and during a parade (sadly, the specifics have faded), but, ok, what the F?

JONWATCH: Yes, after all this time, we're still hanging out. I seem to have gotten past the majority of my hysterics over the relationship ending but we're still in this sort of really close, practically dating place with the calling and the being together and whatnot. And I've yet to find someone else to dropkick him out of my heart. So, welcome to the land of limbo. Drink specials daily from 5-9!!!

DIRECTIONWATCH: If anyone has seen my direction in life, please let me know. It has been missing for some time now. It got away when I wasn't looking. When I last saw it, it vaguely resembled a Tony award for playwrighting preceding a successful and monetarily beneficial transfer to screenwriting which did not involve a move to LA because I was just that great. Due to the fact that it got away and has probably received minimal care in my absence, it may now simple resemble ANY AND ALL FUTURES IN WHICH I DO NOT BECOME HOMELESS. If you find it, please give it a treat (it will not bite), take it in from the rain and call me immediately.

Happy Freakin' New Year

2005-01-03T18:31:37Z

Well I have officially returned to work after the time I took off to celebrate the holiday, and I just want to say that all the misery of 2005 just hit me like out of the blue.

Sure it started off fine - great party, great people, even the recovery was not too painful.

Somehow it's not until today that it's really getting me down.

And by it, I guess, I should just say freakin' Jonathan.

It was until New Year's that I remembered how awesome it was to wake up last year with him in bed, to start the new year off with a kiss from someone special. Not that I didn't really have those things because I had plenty of sweet New Year's kisses from people (and of course Niketta's boyfriend licked my face) and Jen slept over so the loneliness was minimal.

But then again it's not the same. To any who read this who may have not yet had a relationship and are considering one, don't do it. It's not worth it. Relationships don't last and when they're over all you have left are new addictions - cravings to kiss and call and hold and love - all of which that can no longer be fulfilled.

And you, like me, will find yourself that relationships, for all the bullshit, really are as lovely as you'd imagined they'd be and that those tears you cried when you were with him because he wasn't as committed or caring as you'd have liked - those are nothing compared to the empty lonely tears you'll cry when he's gone.

Before the new year I was so happily focused on everything I had, even when I was grumpy and trapped in New Jersey, and why not? It was a pretty amazing way to end the year. But now I find myself suddenly focused on everything I don't have and the cold and empty feeling left behind. Oh, I'm not trying to be dramatic. It's not dramatic. Love is dramatic - fiery and full and roller-coaster-esque. This is just quiet and cold and sad, like dead homeless person in an urban alley in winter.

There is nothing worse than...

2004-11-24T07:20:54Z

Ha! I bet you thought I was going to say "breaking up with your boyfriend, didn't you. Oh, wait...

JONWATCH: Yes, not so much anymore with that there Jon. I find the sadness comes when I:

a) have a really good memory.
b) think of something I want to do that I'll not do again with him.
c) imagine what it would be like to talk to or reach out to him in some way.

I hope that my reflexive desire to call him fades, or there will soon be a shortage of Haagen Daaz in this world.

NOTHINGWORSETHANWATCH: Nothing worse than seeing someone you know on a dating site. Cuz they're probably gonna see you and know both that you're alone and know that you know that they're alone. And really after that, there's nothing to talk about but the weather. And Helen Keller, but that's just me.

TRUTHWATCH: No, I lied. It's true. There's nothing worse than breaking up. And I've had surgery that penetrated to within inches of my brain, so don't come at me you freaks with your "Disease is worse."

SWIFTBOATHOMOSEXUALSFORTRUTHWATCH: Ok, yes, I admit it. Some diseases are worse.

TURKEYDAYWATCH: I am taking solace in the nearness of the day of the turkey. Finally, an alternative to Haagen Daaz.

Oy, What a Week I Had This Morning

2004-11-08T17:08:43Z

DREAMWATCH: Okay, wierdest day so far and it's only noon. Well, actually, no, I've had far wierder days, but get this: I randomly set the alarm early for maximum snooze time. The entire time? I dreamed about these wierd vignettes in which I was trying to save the election. Strange old man hiding with one electoral vote somewhere. Helping this action hero guy named B. Rackemup (I wonder if that's some sort of dream inversion of Barak Obama?) Every time I woke up in like heart-wrenching terror. Dunno why... Sigh... I don't even want to think about it anymore. Blech...

Cheesy Pop Rock Flashbacks or A Little Broken-Hearted

2004-10-14T17:32:23Z

SLEEPWATCH: Very very little. Due to...

JONWATCH: My very long, very in the middle of the night phone screaming match with my boyfriend. After his declarations the day before that we would not be seeing each other for a week (because he said so, end of story), I told him that, while I could handle the time off, I was angry that he didn't include me in the decision or take into account my feelings. By the end of the argument, he had decided I was looking for a partner (read: husband) and he didn't want to be that and also that by asking him to consult with me before making big decisions that effect my life, I was dangerously violating his God-given right to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. I had decided he was a narcissist who was jerking me around because his relationship was one area of his life where he could have control because, for example, he has no job and doesn't work on his art. It did not end well.

SUBWAYWATCH: Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I did it again. I cried on the subway. This is actually a recent phenomenon and usually related to Jon. It's just that, you know, when I'm on the subway and listening to music and upset it tends to just pour out. But this is where my Cheesy Flashback title comes. Kelly Clarkson (those of you who know me understand, though you may not respect, my love for the first American Idol) has a new power ballad called "Breakway" which is typically cheesy and generally retarded and of course I love it. Well, when such a song comes on, I can't help but begin to put together my cheesy flashback montage... My if-my-life-were-to-end-now collection of pulls from my brain camera set to music.

And I realized something, as I watched these images - Jon wasn't there. I saw Brooke posing in her Bond Girl Dress, Meggan with an entire steak in her mouth on senior cruise, Jen breaking the cd in Unheard Of, my sister at the wheel of her VW bug, even my friend Maria, with whom I had some wierdness when I last was home, was there, sparkling in my brighest memories... So many wonderful people, laughing and smiling... And when I turned my montage to Jon... I don't know. It was just him sulking. Yeah, a little bit of doing a crazy dance, a little bit drinking and smoking... but not these wonderful moments of people smiling and being free and really and truly enjoying themselves. And I wonder what that means...

Absentee Journaller

2004-10-08T17:55:22Z

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Yes, I know I've been an absenteee journaller. Odd that I tend to chronicle when nothing is going on and then when stuff that would be interesting to write about is going on, I don't have time to write about it. Ah, well, it would probably just be me bitching about how busy I am, anyway.

BOOKWATCH: I have recently embarked upon the reading of _INFINITE JEST_ by David Foster Wallace, whose collection of essays _A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again_ kept me laughing all through Venice. Anyone who has ever seen the back-breaking size of the book understands why this may be a folly. In other news, I just finished _MIDDLESEX_ by Jeffrey Eugenides and it was pretty awesome. Here's a great quote from it...

QUOTEWATCH: Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that language is aptriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car contructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleepign with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by ageing family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a mini-bar."

RAGWATCH: We're almost done closing the Dec/Jan issue. Thank GOD! I was about to quit and sell my internal organs. I now write, edit and DESIGN the book. OY!

Dream A Little Dream of Confusion

2004-07-12T15:51:13Z

This is the first in a series of wierd dreams I had this weekend:

DREAMWATCH ONE: Saturday night (or actually more like early Sunday morning) I dreamed that I was in a high school stadium. I was a member of a "spirit squad" that, apparently, wasn't all that spirited because we sat Indian style in large lazy circles the entire time. At the end of our routine I got up and made a big scene in front of the audience about how bad everyone was and quit. There were two groups of my friends there. Jen and Kat were on one side of the bleachers. I was, apparently, going somewhere with them after the "game" (for which there were no players.) Brooke and Leslie were on the other side of the bleachers. When we had been doing our squad routine (which was really more like time to chat), everyone had been saying how much they missed Brooke and Leslie. But I knew that they were not there because Brooke was getting some sort of pregnancy test.

Time came for me to leave, but I couldn't find Jen and Kat, and by the time I got back to where Leslie and Brooke had been, they were gone as well. I considered walking home (I guess I was in Jersey?), but I was apprehensive, as I knew somehow that I was in a "bad neighborhood." But some kid came up to me and goes, "Don't worry, they're rich. Rich people won't do nothing to you." And all the thuggish people outside were suddenly looking quite suburban. So I left the gymnasium to walk along the railroad tracks. After a while I got to a station, and I remember cursing and being really frustrated because I knew I had many, many more stops to go.

Funny thing is, that's when I woke up. And I clearly remember the name of the station being the name of my station. Where the heck was I going?

Waiting for Something I Forgot

2004-06-30T20:57:12Z

JONWATCH: Gee, I haven't posted in a while. Ironically, I have at least twice ceated outlines of entries I wanted to make but never did. Wow, am I an organized procrastinator or what? How does this apply to Jonwatch? Well, cuz he's back, and he's been back for quite some time now - long enough to have a houseguest. Nate - a guy Jon hardly knew but who his friend recommended to him - stayed at Jon's while passing through NY on his way to Europe. When he comes back, we're thinking of starting a writer's group. Which could be good considering...

I'M WASTING MY LIFE: Today, I learned the exciting news that Justin Sherin, my dear friend and fellow playwright from Fordham days has been asked to join the MFA program at Yale, 1 of only 3 to receive that honor this time around. So, as excited as I am for my friend, I am also chagrinned at my own failure to achieve anything nearly so impressive. I'm happy for what I do have - an apartment, a fledgling theater company, a job (low-paying, yes, but better than unemployment and at least somewhat in my field), a show in Fringe, a new play to read, friends and colleagues to read it, family to support me. But I spent so much of my life feeling like I was going to scale mountains and be a bold faced name, and here I am, afraid to get on a ski lift, my name in Times New Roman 8 Point. I blame this on...

WAITING FOR SOMETHING I FORGOT: It's a sensation that I think I started registering awhile ago, but I think only came to its fullest fruition today - I spend so much of my time waiting... waiting like when I was a kid for Christmas or Summer or The Next Big Show, doing things, yes, but mostly anticipating. And I realized that I'm performing this waiting with no particular object. Technically waiting is a passive verb. You don't wait a car or wait a newspaper. But you wait for... And I have managed to lose my for... And yet I'm still waiting, teeth clenched, scribbling, sighing, wondering... without an object, without a for, just... waiting.

Love in the Time of Rewriting

2004-06-17T16:44:55Z

On the Subject of the Subject: This was the title of a recent e-mail I sent to my friend, roommate and director-extraordinaire Meg in regards to rewriting. And that's what I'm doing, working on paring down the mostrous, massively overwritten whale of a script that (of course) did not get into the Fringe Festival. (One of my scripts that had already been twice-produced did. Lesson? Don't hack out a first draft and submit it without reading it over kids.) I've been hacking the thing to bits now, ripping it apart in huge chunks and rearranging them. It all seems so clear to me now; I wonder why it was so cloudy then.

JONWATCH: Jon continues to be not here, which makes me sad. Well, sad is actually the most misrepresentational, monosyllabic distillation of what I feel. I think the best way to describe it is that each moment that he's not here, I feel fully engaged, in addition to whatever else I'm doing, in the act of waiting. It's a neat trick in some ways: time has expanded. Perhaps next time I'm on a particularly tight deadline I should send Jon away. Nah, that'd never work.

FRIENDWATCH: On the up side, and this is something that does tend to happen in Jon's absence, I've been reconnecting with friends who I don't see as often as each day skips merrily by with me in love with my boy. By the end of this week, I will have finally gotten to meet with Meg about the play, bid farewell to Renee (who's moving away), had drinks with Brooke and her family who are stopping by the city, given a copy ofbastard unedited script to my darling Jill, had a night of debauchery with my dear Philly boy AWOL, hung out with my dad and reunited with my great partner in splurning, Jen. Full week, eh? But, paradoxically, I know that no matter how much I do, I will feel as though I've done one thing all week: miss the boy.

SIGH: noun, an exhalation of breath so as to indicate sadness or exasperation.

The New Slavery

2004-06-15T18:00:13Z

I suppose the point of having a livejournal is to update it, and already I fear that I have not been particularly stick-to-it-tive in my dedication, but, well, here we go, post number two. . .

JONWATCH: Yes, indeed, Jon continues to be in Ireland. And once he figured out that calls are expensive from Ireland (groundbreaking news, I know), our conversation petered from long and winding to short-and-sweet-every-OTHER-day. I've been attempting to make lots of plans, etc., in his absence. I know the solution to being keenly aware of missing someone is to fill your days with all the people who one doesn't see when the Significant Other is around. But I suppose melancholy breeds melancholy, because as much as I hate to sit around missing him, all I really want to do is - you guessed it - sit around missing him. So I'm fervently filling my datebook against my own will but in my own best interests. The human mind can be a nasty bag of tricks.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT: I'd just like to say that, I wish livejournal, in addition to having "what music is playing" had "what book is open". I mean, anyone who's got half a brain is always in the middle of something. On that topic, I just finished reading an essay called "Control Units" by Jonathan Franzen (he of the infamous "Oprah can take her book club and shove it" controversy and author of the spectacular novel The Corrections). In it, he discusses the somewhat inescapable wheel of poverty and crime, and how, ultimately (although he, quite subtly, chooses not to hammer this idea but rather suggest it) we are forming a new slavery. Minorities, born into a society where there is little opportunity for advancement but crime, will, by necessity, commit crime. Then, after the requisite "three strikes", end up working at slave wages (in the range of $1 an hour) in the prison system.

Yes, there are exceptions to every rule, good kids who manage to make it through school, avoid the negative influences, etc. But the idea that I'm taking part in a system that may be subtly reinstating slavery by recontextualizing it doesn't sit well in my tummy with the gazpacho I just ate for lunch.

WHAT'S ON MY DESK: How to be Alone, a collection of essays by Jonathan Franzen

You're in My Heart, So until Then . . .

2004-06-11T17:32:50Z

THINGS THAT CONSISTENTLY MAKE ME CRY:

1. Singing along with the song "Where Do You Start?" as recorded by the incredible Miss Shirley Horn.

2. Watching Ellen Burstyn and Jay Mohr play mother and son-dying-of-AIDS in "Playing by Heart;" she reads "Goodnight Moon" to him as he's about to go.

3. The Muppets Take Manhattan, in particular the song "Saying Goodbye" but also the end sequence Broadway show.

THINGS THAT MADE ME CRY TODAY:

1. Terrorism.

2. My boyfriend.

3. Nancy Reagan

WHY THIS IS CONFOUNDING TO ME:If you'll notice, the first list is completely and totally drenched in fiction. Sure, there's a smattering of disease and heartbreak, but all nicely wrapped in a merry melody of preserved on sparkling celluloid. I like to cry at these things. Sometimes I almost don't, and then I push myself to for the cathartic eventness of it all.

But today, well, let me take a step back and explain a bit why I started up this journal. First of all, Jen, *snaps for Jen* because she had one, and I do tend to look at it to catch up with her when I can't get hold of her. Second, when I think of the journals I've kept over the years, they're filled with so much crap: so much apologizing to the journal for not writing enough, so much pondering the future, so little living in the moment.

When it comes down to it, keeping a journal is generally a good thing. But keeping a journal where you live in your head is like going on vacation and taking "postcard pictures" (i.e. pictures without the people you're with in them): better than taking no pictures at all, but lacking in proof that you were there, that things happened, that you made your impression in foreign clay.

So this morning, when I worried because it was 6-11 (halfway between the Spanish train bombings on 3-11 and the anniversary of the WTC on 9-11) and because there were an extreme number of announcements on the train suggesting to report untended packages to the authorities; this morning when I cried kissing Jonathan goodbye, even though he's only going to Ireland for a week, but because it's so soon after our monthlong separation for our respective trips to the West Coast and Austria; today when I turned on the television (in the hopes that if there were terrorism on the subways I could use it as an excuse to get out of work) and I saw Nancy Reagan, propped up by a military-man so very decorated that he looked like a chintz lamp, and her, looking exhausted, perhaps desperately looking forward to the end of all the eulogizing, not to mention the indubitably painful years of watching her husband destroyed by Alzheimers; this morning when all this is going on, and I'm crying, not for any fictional reason, not for cathartic effect, but just because of it all...

THIS MORNING I THOUGHT: Hey, I ought to be writing this down.</font>